Like a Roadmap through the Past
by Jean Hicks
Summary: Sister piece to "The Stories our Scars May Tell". This time, Sherlock gets to do a little exploring of his own. Fluffy, funny, and angsty at parts. Don't have to have read previous piece to understand, but why not? No spoilers, assumes established John/Sherlock slash. Rated K , because John really isn't in the mood. ;-)


**AN: **Sister piece to "The Stories our Scars May Tell", wherein Sherlock gets to do a little exploring and deduction of his own. Fluffy. A little angsty... Flangsty! Happy ending, though, and sappiness throughout. Read, review, and enjoy!

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"Budge up." John Watson pushed at his lover's long legs. "You would think you could at least sit on the bed the right way." The lover in question was stretched horizontally on the bed. He looked up, smiled a crooked smile, and righted himself so he was stretched down the left side of the bed. John nodded appreciatively and laid out on the right side.

"You seem angry." Sherlock Holmes said with his nose stuck back in his book. He was in his standard grey pajama pant and lightweight vest. It was dark outside, and the cool air blew in from the open window of their bedroom.

John snorted as he opened a book of his own. "Long day."

"We didn't have any cases."

"Long day… for me." John amended in a tone that implied he simply did not want to talk anymore. He hoped Sherlock could, for once, pick up on that social cue.

There was a moment of silence during which Sherlock seemed to return to his tome. The calming bustle of the city drifted among them. John inhaled and exhaled, forcing some of his angry mood out with the breath. Sherlock's voice broke through the noise. "That was rude of me."

John rolled his eyes as if to say, _You think?_

"Perhaps there is… something I could do for you?" The detective folded his book and placed it on the nightstand. John managed a small smile but shook his head. They had been sharing a room for four or five months now, but Sherlock was still awkward about asking for physical intimacy.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock… I really don't feel like sex tonight."

Sherlock shook his head. "Oh, no, John, I was thinking about sex. I was hoping maybe I could help you relax." He sounded like a child when he spoke this quickly. "I remembered a few months ago when you mapped my scars. That was really relaxing, and I thought that maybe I could just touch you and you would relax too…"

John was smiling in full now, already feeling the heaviness of the day melt away with Sherlock's youthful enthusiasm. "You want to explore my scars, like I did yours?" Sherlock simply nodded. "All right, I suppose we can do that." The curly haired man watched with wide eyes as John lifted his shirt off of his chest and tossed it to the side of the room. He had already taken his trousers off and with the dispatch of his shirt was clad only in his red pants.

He had lost some of his musculature since being invalided home, but he wasn't out of shape. Running after Sherlock ensured that he kept fit, but his middle was softening and he sometimes looked at himself with a critical eye. John lay back on the bed. Sherlock put his hands together and surveyed his lover, eyes bright with excitement. "Where should we start?" John tried not to fidget as Sherlock's gaze inspected every inch of him.

"Close your eyes John, you're far too nervous for me to do this with your eyes open. And try not to fidget."

"Christ, Sherlock, is this surgery or…" The detective silenced his blogger with a firm kiss on the mouth.

"Eyes shut, Dr. Watson." John had no choice but to obey. Sherlock's hand wrapped around John's ankle, thin and nimble, his temperature a cold contrast to John's shower warmed skin. John jumped, but Sherlock shushed him with a calming breathe and a brush of his thumb on the bottom of his foot.

He worked his hand up slowly, massaging John's calf. John sighed softly, and then Sherlock dug his finger in near a ridge of raised skin on his shin. It was pale white and stood out against John's darker skin. "That's a…" John began. Sherlock pushed his fingers in harder and John silenced his sentence.

"Let me do the talking, please, John. You just enjoy this… and then you can tell me if I'm right."

"You're always right, you git." The doctor breathed out. Sherlock shook his head and resumed a soft roll of his fingers across the scar.

"You broke your leg. Quite simple, really… you've never told me about it though, so either you were very young or the story was very boring. Either way, boring young boy accident… you fell out of a tree, more than likely before you were eight."

John huffed out a breath. "Right in one, Sherlock… Except I was eight and a half." There was a smile in his tone. Had he opened his eyes, John would have seen Sherlock's adorable victory grin. As it was, the momentary lapse in demeanor was safe.

The hands of his lover continued their ascent up his leg. Finding nothing more of interest, Sherlock began again on John's other ankle. He moved in slow, steady rhythm, watching the lines of worry and stress melt off of John's face. He came to the troubled knee, and though he knew he would find no real scars there, he spent a good amount of time kneading the muscles around the joint.

John purred in appreciation. "God Sherlock, where did you learn to do this?"

Even with his eyes closed, he could hear the leer as Sherlock replied, "A book, John, where I learn nearly everything I amaze you with." He moved up to the thigh and stopped at a series of long scars that bisected part of the width of his muscle and cut around to the back. "This…. now this is a bit more interesting…" Sherlock danced his fingers across the lines and smiled. They were puckered and prominent.

"I'm guessing this was an accident, but not a car. Something rough tore your leg open…" He pulled his fingers across the scars. "But it wasn't deep enough to warrant sutures, or they would have never scarred like this…" His fingers tapped an absent staccato on John's thigh as he thought. The idea hit him like a club on the head.

"Motorbike!" He said loudly. John jumped. "Oh, sorry John…." He brushed his hand pacifyingly through the blonde hair that covered John's thigh. "But it was a motorbike accident, wasn't it? You fell off onto your side and buggered up your thigh and chances are your side but I haven't gotten there yet… and you had a motorbike in university. You've told me that, but not about the accident." He laughed. "Because you had to have been embarrassed about the cause of it… You were intoxicated, most likely." He rocked back on his heels and waited for John's conformation of his deduction.

John smiled. "Correct again, Sherlock." The statement earned him a kiss and he smiled broadly. "You're affectionate when you're right."

"And you're less grumpy when I have my hands on you." He quipped back, moving said hands to John's wrist. He spent the next moments massaging all of John's forearm and bicep, leaving his bad shoulder for later. He mirrored the actions on the other side. Apart from a few cuts or burns from when John served in Afghanistan, and a very stubborn watch-tan line, his arms were free of scars. "Roll over, please, Dr. Watson…" Sherlock whispered, hot breathe very close to John's ear. The doctor obeyed, shifting onto a comfortable position with his neck on the pillow and head turned to the side.

Lying like this exposed his scarred shoulder completely. He felt immediately self-conscious of his flawed and broken skin. He tensed when Sherlock's hands began kneading his neck, avoiding the raised mass of ropy scar. "Please don't tense." Sherlock nearly mimicked John's words from when they confronted a few of his personal demons. He talked softly and slowly, his hands never ceasing their movement as they worked the tension from the muscle.

"These scars, they are your badge of honor, John. You are a hero." Sherlock drew his hands around the scars, memorizing their pattern beneath his fingertips.

"You don't believe in heroes." John spat as he tried to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Sherlock stopped for a moment, considered John's statement, and then began his exploration again. "I suppose I don't believe in heroes, John Watson, but I believe in _you_."

The words were unexpected and combined with the gentle relaxing motion of Sherlock's hands they brought up a river of emotion. John's eyes flooded before he could help himself and tears began to streak down his face and onto the pillow.

"John, what is it? Have I hurt you?" Sherlock asked, aware almost immediately of the change in John's breathing and the atmosphere in the room. "Please look at me, this is not what I intended."

"No." John managed a smile through his tears as he opened his eyes to meet Sherlock's. "You haven't hurt me Sherlock. I'm just touched by what you said, that's all." Sherlock visibly relaxed at this statement. John, however, continued to cry. "I'm sorry." He said, feeling foolish as he brushed tears from his eyes and turned onto his back before setting up in the bed. "I'm really trying to stop, but you're being so kind and your hands and Christ I'm just not worth this, you know?" He let out a self-depreciating laugh.

Sherlock looked puzzled. "On the contrary, John, you're worth much more than just this." More tears from John, now, and a sob that he was biting back. "Why are you trying not to cry?"

"Because it's foolish. Embarrassing. I know you hate emotion." He batted at tears, took a deep breath, tried to regain a footing on his emotional state. "I'm just tired… it will pass."

"Again you're wrong, John. I don't do well with emotion… I find others' emotions insipid. The emotion you show?" He paused. "I have to say I find it completes me. You are my antithesis, in that respect." A true sob now, unrestrained, and John launched himself ungracefully towards his lover.

The detective didn't seem too surprised. He took John in his arms and buried his nose into the blonde hair. "We are lovers, John. Do not hide your pain from me… please. Let me hold you if you need it." Sherlock rocked him back and forth, stroking his hand along his bare back.

After a while, when the sobs had turned to hiccoughs, Sherlock navigated them into a position lying down. He was not particularly tired, but he knew John had to be. He started to pull away so that John could find his rest when the calloused hands clutched around his back. "I think…" John said in a voice that was stuffy and thick, "I think I would rather like it if you just stayed like this."

Sherlock smiled and turned his cheek to rest on the shorter man's head and rubbed across it like a cat. John sighed and settled further into Sherlock's shoulder.

"Of course, love." Sherlock's baritone soothed the last of John's troubled thoughts. Wrapped around each other, they were asleep within minutes.

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**AN: **Hope you enjoyed it! Just a quick note to point out that I've more time to write than I expected, but all of the ideas I keep tossing around are similar to stories I've written. Anyone who has an idea or request they'd like to see me wrestle with, leave it as a review or PM me and I will see what I can do. Much appreciated!


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